Melting Dali Clocks as You

An anatomical description of metaphor in best intent

to demonize the miserable oppressed and trod-upon in seeking out

the greatest love and longest sentences, like lakes in

droplets falling on a dew of green and envious nothing to hold the

wasted pieces in my broken blood and weep the silent screams

and lie upon a back of porcelain feeling.

This intent to mediocrite the stance of true sacrificial,

to shout and true till the depths, exhausted, fall into slumber

like the bitter clouds that sit upon an empty grave.

This is all I am today.

Tell me and I promise.

Tune to melody, and working in reverse is fine to feel out the shuddering

contours of a beauteous frame before the sheets give way of white to stain.

Beauteous and marred, thus trembling and holding out the crimson

to examine the status of a virgin soul upon the cracks

as hope and truth and innocence coagulate.

Decadence, be it far from me, further detached from those

it needs to powering them for it be.

Hold and repeat the rifle till there is no more felt upon to stick the powder

in burning for the world to fall

until the decay becomes as low and filth and despair to hope the time

of melting Dali clocks as you.

Noontide by the falling lakes;

recycle imagery to keep the knowing strong,

to lean upon not understanding your own truth, and fall.

Coerce me into a pit of pink elephants

and blue tigers

in order so successive

that may fall and spell oblivion,

fall, fall, fall!

You desperate reflection of a broken pulse gone cold!